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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794257">Emma and the Quarantine Beard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooddaysunshine/pseuds/gooddaysunshine'>gooddaysunshine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Quarantine, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, idk jon matteson had a beard for a minute so here we are, idk what else to tag, maybe that?, this is literally just plotless fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:47:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,475</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooddaysunshine/pseuds/gooddaysunshine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma comes over to Paul's house after a few weeks away to a very interesting discovery.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Emma and the Quarantine Beard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have multiple WIPs, so naturally I had to write a quarantine one shot because Jon Matteson had a beard for a hot second. I couldn't stop thinking about Paul with a quarantine beard, which brings us to where we are now.</p><p>This is totally separate from anything I've written. It's just a fun little standalone piece of plotless fluff.</p><p>I hope everyone is staying safe and well and enjoys a lil fluffy thang. :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The feeling of peeling off that fucking mask at the end of the day felt almost as sweet as leaving work did for Emma. Few things gave her as much satisfaction as being able to breathe that stale Hatchetfield air. Anything was better than breathing in the after stench of her ham and cheese sandwich she had consumed hours ago at lunch. The glow from the Starbucks sign across the street—open much later than Beanies was by its corporate design— was a welcome comfort when she bounded out onto the relatively barren downtown sidewalks. There were nights, such as this one, where she dared to admit to herself that she was mildly content to be in the position she found herself in. Especially without a fucking mask on.</p><p>It was an odd sensation for her. To not actually <em>mind</em> being in Hatchetfield in general. She spent the first eighteen years of her life trying to get off the godforsaken island, but then Jane had to go and die to rope her back in. (She was learning, through that therapist she had been referred to, that she had the tendency to joke about things that were causing her pain rather than addressing them, but as she explained to said therapist, she couldn’t help being such a fucking comedian.) All things considered, though, her return to town had gone better than she could have expected. Her nephew was cool as hell and more than willing to let her in despite her absence through the majority of his life. Her brother-in-law was… civil enough, which was really all she could ask for at the end of the day. Her second stint in college was going far better than the first time around, and she was actually pulling solid A’s and B’s. Her job paid absolute shit, but it was still a job that she had managed to float for a year already, a new record.</p><p>Then there was the gangly idiot in the suit.</p><p>She caught on almost immediately that this dude had been coming in day after day to order a single cup of shitty black coffee. By the looks of the suit and his overall clean appearance, she had to assume he worked in an office that very likely had a coffee pot somewhere in its walls. A coffee pot that probably brewed better coffee with less spit in it than the garbage they served at Beanies. She also ventured to guess that he didn’t get as sweaty and nervous with the coffee pot at his office as he did with the barista at Beanies. At some point, though, it became less flatly amusing to her and left her grinning in his wake as he scurried down the sidewalk away from the café.</p><p>From her pocket, she produced a fairly hefty keyring. There was the car key. The various keys that belonged to Beanies. That key to the science building the kooky biology professor had given to her in the midst of a research project she had embarked on with him. The key to get in the first set of gates at said biology professor’s fortress home to drop off his groceries. She decided on a silver key with a sliver of masking tape on it, labeling it <em>‘spare’.</em> Metal slid into the lock with a small crunch to grant her access to the house beyond the red door. “Hey,” she called into the house while she slipped into the house.</p><p>“Hey,” a voice called back, a little distracted. She pressed the door shut behind her, locking it. Locking herself in for the night really. Toeing her sneakers off, she struggled to balance with the clothing-filled backpack throwing off her equilibrium, but she managed to successfully remove her shoes no less before placing them beside a pair of much larger sneakers. She bit back a smile. “I didn’t really have time to cook anything… or order anything. I’m sorry. I was just—”</p><p>Past the small foyer area and the entrance to the small kitchen, she could start to make out the far end of the small dining table. It was a solid handmade cherry table that caught her eye at a yard sale the summer before. “It’s okay. I ate like three stale scones before I left, so I’ll be good for now,” she responded, shifting her bag on her shoulder upon entering the main living area of the house. “We could always… holy fuck.”</p><p>At the other end of the table, the nervous sweaty suit man was perched in his usual spot. A mug sat beside him on the table, half-filled with what she presumed was cold black coffee. Printed on the front was an illustration of Nicolas Cage surrounded by pink roses wearing a flower crown. In beautiful swirling cursive read: <em>“You’re my National Treasure.”</em> Her eyes shifted from the coffee mug to the mug staring back at her, pinker and more nervous than it had looked as of late. “What?” was all he managed to sputter out. His eyebrows were raised in surprise and concern all at once.</p><p>It was the same face he wore when she had told him to grab a drink with her sometime. Surprised. A little bewildered. Unsure of what he had just heard. Even so, he <em>did</em> meet her for a drink that weekend, and much to her surprise, he was far friendlier up close and personal. They sat and talked for hours over a series of beers. She found herself laughing at his stupid jokes and listening intently to his stories. There was something about the gangly weirdo that she felt drawn to. That she liked. Hell, she even kissed him out in the bar’s parking lot that very night. In her defense, though, he had fucking couch cushion lips that she started to be curious about a couple hours into what they would later consider their first date. “Paul, you can’t be serious with this ‘what?’ shit,” she guffawed as she tossed her hand out in his direction. “I leave you alone for two and a half weeks, and your face just goes… hog fuckin’ wild!”</p><p>One of his hands raised to touch his chin. “Oh,” he mumbled. Behind his glasses, his big blue saucer eyes looked tired as though he had been working nonstop since she last saw him, which was entirely possible. Since he began working from home, he continuously was working past the time he would have normally called it quits. At this particular moment, he was still sitting in front of his laptop that was glowing white against his face. Fingers scratched against his chin audibly before continuing down his neck. He jutted his chin out toward her. “Yeah, that’s new, I guess.”</p><p>“Hell yeah, it’s new,” she spat back with another laugh. She liked how tongue-tied she tended to make him. There was something entertaining in watching him stumble over his words, trying to find the right ones to say to her. Although, there were times, such as this, where she was just giving him shit and he didn’t know what to do about it. “I go back to my apartment to make it look like someone’s living there, and I come back here to Hans fucking Gruber.”</p><p>His face fell along with his hand back into his lap. “Does it look that bad?” he asked quietly, attempting to look at himself in some sort of reflection in his laptop screen. “I didn’t think it looked that bad.” His palm ran over the newly scruffy chin. To be fair, he didn’t look like Hans Gruber. That was just the first character with a beard that was not of Viking or wizard proportion that came to mind, but his reaction read as disappointed more than anything.</p><p>“No, it doesn’t… it’s…” God, she was feeling like him. Not sure of what to say and when. The words wouldn’t come to her mostly because it <em>didn’t</em> look bad. She had never expected to see him with anything longer than a five o’clock shadow. Let alone, the actual groundwork of a sizable beard. “I mean, Alan Rickman didn’t look <em>bad</em> with a beard, Paul. I just…” She pursed her lips and then sighed. “You’re just always… y’know, the same, so this is different. I wasn’t expecting fucking facial hair.”</p><p>He blinked. “I could shave it if you’d like,” he offered.</p><p>“Oh my <em>god,”</em> she groaned as she hoisted the heavy bag higher up on her shoulder. “Just… fucking give me a minute.” When she turned her back to him to walk over to the stairs, she could tell he had opened his mouth to respond and then promptly closed it. She could picture his eyes drifting back to the computer screen that likely had unfinished spreadsheets or unanswered emails spread across it. “It’s seven o’clock on a Friday night, big guy. Give it a rest.” As she climbed the stairs, the image of him blinking at the empty room, wondering how she knew what he was doing, was clear in her mind. She smiled softly to herself.</p><p>His bedroom was small and relatively sparsely decorated. Plain dark-colored furniture. Light blue bedding that she had picked out on a killer sale at Bed Bath and Beyond. Nightstand that held his glasses case and a small lamp on his side of the bed. One that had a smattering of jewelry in disarray at what he referred to as her side of the bed. She hadn’t meant to fall into a routine with this guy, yet there she was with her very own side of his bed. “Knew I didn’t lose those fucking earrings,” she muttered to herself, plopping her bag on the bed. “Suck my dick, Zoey. I don’t fucking lose everything.”</p><p>One bit of decoration that had manifested after she had been around long enough was a set of pictures on his dresser. Nothing too crazy. A photo of his buddy from work and him at some sort of summer picnic. A photo of him with the infamous brother she had yet to meet at what looked to be a wedding. Then at the far end, closest to his side of the bed, was a photo of the two of them. It had been taken not too long before the world had decided to fucking end about a year earlier. Valentine’s Day. Their first, he had noted. She had scoffed at the idea of multiple Valentine’s Days with anyone but didn’t laugh quite as much when the second one had rolled around. Somehow, he managed to not only get her out of work but also got her to partake in a stupid Hallmark holiday’s festivities. Granted, they just spent the evening at his house not doing much at all. Dinner. A movie. The slightest bit of making out before passing out at eleven. She was a few glasses of liquid courage into her night when she had made herself at home in his lap and lifted her phone up above them. <em>“Take a stupid picture with me like a stupid boyfriend should.”</em> His stupid pink face beamed from ear to ear. At that moment, it made her heart race. In all honesty, it still fucking did, but now, there was also photo evidence of it.</p><p>She worked quickly at the buttons of the white ruffled shirt Nora had decided would make a fine uniform at a coffee shop, taking note of the accumulating coffee stains on the fabric. The black bow from around her neck had disappeared as soon as Nora left earlier that day. She didn’t really give half of a shit if Zoey tattled on her for breaking uniform. She wouldn’t have to hear about it until Tuesday, so until Tuesday, she wouldn’t worry about it. Tossing the shirt onto the floor, she pondered the options she had in her backpack. A flurry of t-shirts had been tossed in as she rushed out the door, late for work… again. None of them were calling her name, though, so she sauntered over to his dresser. Second drawer on the left. She pulled it open. “Bingo,” she whispered, pleased to find a drawer filled with t-shirts he had accumulated throughout the years. As per usual, she went for a worn heather grey long sleeved shirt with large navy blue lettering across the chest. <em>‘Ithaca College’.</em> She smiled fondly upon pulling the shirt over her head. It swam on her, but it was comforting.</p><p>Her sister would have been over the moon to have seen her acting like this. Like a lovestruck goon as much as she didn’t want to admit that was what she was. Jane was constantly telling her she needed to settle down. To find someone nice to spend her life with. Naturally, though, she effectively said ‘fuck you’ to that and went off to run around Central America for a decade. She was back now, though. Going to college. Maintaining a shitty steady job. Dating the nice quiet desk geek Jane would have been floored to have seen her interested in. Not that she was doing at all what her sister would have wanted her to. There was something that lacked the life choice quality that something on Jane’s checklist would had in her shitty barista gig that she was coasting on in her thirties. Hell, she didn’t even have a viable career path after getting her botany degree. Sure, the pot farm was a pipe dream (pun intended). She just didn’t have much of a short-term plan. The only plan she had for the immediate future was… him, and each time she thought about it, she wanted to crawl further into the cheesy little hole she dug for herself in his life.</p><p>Running her fingers over the lettering, she wondered what it would have been like to meet him in college. Before shit was bad. Maybe everything would have been different. Maybe she would have stayed. Maybe Jane would still be alive. Maybe she wouldn’t be a barista at a shitty fucking coffee shop in her shitty fucking hometown. But she didn’t meet him in college or even before. No matter how many times she played over various scenarios wherein they could have met in passing, though, didn’t change the fact that it didn’t happen like that. They met at her shitty coffee shop job, where he was too awkward and nervous to even ask for her name for months. Still, she smiled softly at the thought of him.</p><p>Beneath the shirt, she could feel the charm of the necklace she had grown accustom to wearing. A delicate gold chain with a dainty charm hanging from it. When she had opened the small box that past Christmas, her heart fell into her gut. She hadn’t been ready for any sort of commitment that came with this particular shape and size of box. To her surprise, it was a very different piece of jewelry to the one her mind had conjured up. Against the white satin of the box, she could see a small blue flower pressed in the charm.</p><p>
  <em>“When I… um, was a kid, my mom used to tell us this story about a brave knight. He was a… y’know, fierce warrior and did everything in his power to protect the king and queen and their kingdom, but he did it all for this… girl. He loved her his whole life. From when he was a little boy to when he was out there… murdering bad guys, I guess? Anyway, the point is he loved her, and she loved him. One day, he and his, um, lady friend? They went down to the river walking after a particularly long stint of wars. By the riverbed were these little blue flowers that reminded him of her eyes, so he bent down to pick one for her. His armor was too heavy, though, and he fell into the strong current of the river. But before he was gone and never to be seen again, he tossed his love the flower, calling out, ‘Forget me not!’”</em>
</p><p>Often, she found herself entranced as he rambled on about this thing or that, but this felt different. His had eyes drifted off somewhere she couldn’t quite place. He gently touched the charm of the necklace. <em>“My parents split up when I was a kid. Dad had… </em>has<em> a lot of money and pull with almost everything, so he got custody of all of us, which left us with Mom every other weekend.”</em> He shifted his gaze up to her. <em>“But I remember looking forward to her telling us bedtime stories. This was one of my favorites even though it’s, like, super fucked up.”</em> He pursed his lips as he thought of where his thoughts needed to go to wrap up his long-winded explanation. She couldn’t say she minded listening to him, though. <em>“Anyway, the point is… I love you, and I mean, even if things go south with this thing, I don’t think I’ll be able to forget you… so—”</em> he tapped the charm, <em>“—forget me not.”</em></p><p>With a shake of her head, she moved from his dresser, knocking the drawer shut with her hip. She sauntered back over to the bed before slipping out of her shorts, which were not weather appropriate in the slightest, yet they still had to wear them daily per her royal highness Nora. The leggings she pulled up over her legs were a welcome relief on the cool skin of her legs. She stared down at the thin ankle socks that covered the feet she was wiggling around as she plotted her next move. Back to the dresser, she pulled open the top middle drawer. Socks. Tons of them. He loved all sorts of socks, which made little gifts a fucking breeze. It also made for quick slippers in a pinch. She grabbed a plush pair of socks likely for wearing around the house. Beneath it, her fingers knocked against something hard, though she wasn’t near the bottom of the drawer. Upon further inspection, she furrowed her eyebrows. A small green box sat in the corner of the drawer toward the front similar to the one from Christmas in size and shape, if not perhaps a tad smaller. Despite her sister screaming in her head to leave it be, the louder nosier voice of her inner child told her to just take a peek.</p><p>All she could make out was a glimmer coming from something sitting in the center of the box before she heard the first step creak under his weight. She threw the socks back in the drawer and hastily closed it and scurried back over to the bed. He rounded into the room with his hand rubbing at his chin. “Em, if you don’t like it, I’ll shave it,” he repeated. “You know what. I’m just gonna do it. I should’ve known it was stupid when Ted told me he liked it. Should’ve friggen known.” All she was able to do was blink as she considered what she was fairly sure she just discovered. He frowned. “Are you okay?” he asked, hand falling from his face.</p><p>Her eyes were wide as she continued to blink at him. She had to say something, though. No matter how hard her heart was hammering against her chest. “Yeah, fine,” she answered, probably a little too quickly. She sucked a quick breath in and let her expression return to something that resembled her usual amusement with him. “You don’t have to do anything with it if <em>you</em> like it, ya big nerd.” He narrowed his eyes at the statement. “Do you like your little beard, mountain man?”</p><p>He pressed his lips together before allowing a smile to break out along them. “Yeah, I kinda do,” he admitted, almost bashfully.</p><p>Tossing her hands in the air, she grinned at him. “Then who the fuck cares, Paul?” she hollered, eliciting a laugh from him. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It sure as <em>fuck</em> doesn’t matter what Ted thinks. It’s all you and what <em>you</em> want, baby cakes.”</p><p>Something changed in his expression. A softening in his eyes. An ease in his posture. “What I want,” he murmured. Her heart continued to pound against her ribs. It felt like it might just beat right through her chest. She dug her thumb nail against her palm. “Can I ask you something?”</p><p>She debated telling him no. Him and the stupid beard she wasn’t quite ready to admit she kind of dug. “Sure,” she responded, nail digging into her palm even harder. “But I reserve my right to not answer whatever it is.”</p><p>His brows shot up. There was the nerd she was used to. “No, yeah! Of course,” he babbled, raising his hands defensively. “Yeah, you can absolutely say no.”</p><p>A beat of silence passed between them. The words were clearly getting stuck somewhere in his throat, much like the day when she finally asked what <em>his</em> name was. He had been coming in every single day. Same time. Same coffee order. On Friday, however, he lingered at the counter after having dropped his generous tip in the jar. Shaky and anxious, he took breaths in as if he were going to speak but never did so. She felt the corners of her lips tugging up into a soft grin. “Well, what did you want to ask?” she egged on, not entirely sure she wanted to know what the question was. “C’mon, nerd, you know you can ask me anything. Just—”</p><p>“Do you maybe want to move in here?” he spat out. Her mouth hung slack as she stopped mid-word. That was not what she had expected. It wasn’t even something that had crossed her mind. Though when she thought about, she didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her that it was coming down the pike. Most days, she was there. Especially after the initial lockdown. She wasn’t sure that she was going to be able to keep floating her rent while Beanies was closed. Without batting an eye, he told her she could stay with him as long as she needed to. She had been so touched that tears slipped down her cheeks after days of anxiety and uncertainty. As it turned out, the coffee shop opened back up with relative haste, so she had been able to keep up with her rent. That didn’t stop her from spending more nights with him than at her own place. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. That’s fine. I just thought…” His words trailed off. He closed his eyes, taking a deep steadying breath in. “I just missed you the last couple weeks, and I’ve <em>really</em> liked having you around every day. But I get if you’re not comfortable with that.”</p><p>From the very beginning he was always conscientious of how slowly she wanted or needed to take things with them. He just kind of got it. Even when there were moments where he was clearly ready to move forward with the relationship, he hung back to wait for her to catch up. He had looked so defeated when she had trouble labeling whatever they were doing in the beginning. They had been seeing each other exclusively. They went out on dates on the regular. He came to Thanksgiving at her brother-in-law’s house after just over a month of knowing her but waited patiently for that fateful Valentine’s Day to hear her refer to him as her boyfriend out loud.</p><p>Here they were again. Almost a year and a half in. He was still willing to wait for her. She swallowed hard. He loved her. She loved him. Falling into a comfortable routine with another person was a cycle she never wanted to find herself in, yet she stood across from the awkward gangly black coffee guy. That rat bastard tipped his way into her fucking heart. “Okay,” she answered. It was an honest answer because past all the fear of commitment she wanted it too.</p><p>His eyes went wide. “Okay?” he repeated, voice cracking in disbelief. A part of her felt terrible that he could ever doubt how she felt. What she wanted. She was well aware, though, that she had the tendency to shut down. When in doubt, evade, evade, evade. That was her life motto, but there wasn’t really a reason to evade anymore. She dared to admit to herself on occasion that she was <em>happy</em> being back on the fucking island. A large portion of that was his fucking fault, but she wasn’t ready to let him have that nugget of knowledge. Not yet at least.</p><p>“Yeah,” she sighed with a chuckle, shuffling across the floor to close the gap between them. She craned her neck to look up at him. Never in her life had she dated someone a whole damn foot taller than her. It just never seemed to logistically make sense. She always gravitated to people who easier to reach. People who didn’t need to be yanked down to kiss. She had to admit that the extra height was great to reach the very back of cabinets she would normally have to climb on the counter to access. She also didn’t really mind wrapping her arms around his neck to bring his face to hers. Their lips met softly. A spark tingled in her belly. She knocked her forehead against his, allowing her eyes to flutter open. “And we’ll give the whole beard thing a trial run. I’m kinda into it.”</p><p>He chuckled as his own eyes opened to meet her gaze. Big and blue and nervous. She loved his eyes and reminded him frequently of this. Her finger traced small circles on the back of his neck. His arms wound around her back to pull her into a hug. “Okay,” he said while lifting her off the ground. She buried her face in his neck, giggling. She was fucking <em>giggling.</em> This stupid nerd was ruining her, and she wasn’t even angry about it. She wasn’t annoyed or scared. Things were falling right into place. Like it was all meant to be. The relationship. The moving in together. The green box in his sock drawer. The silly photos. The awkward flirting. The quiet weekends at home. It seemed as though there was some internal check list she was going through line by line as he continued to bring more joy into her life every single day.</p><p>And Jesus fucking Christ, she was going to probably end up marrying this dude and his dumbass quarantine beard. Somewhere out in the universe, her sister was cackling, but she couldn’t even bring herself to roll her eyes. She was just happy, and quite frankly, Jane would have loved that.</p>
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